


Catbread Echoes

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [18]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:04:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pulling the trigger is always the easy part.  What's hard is everything that comes after.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> Combining Tinx_r's Cody h/c and Catyah's request for Warwick resolution.  
> Spoilers for _Echoes_.  
> 

Murray didn't see how familiar it was as they drove out of town. The case was complex and frightening and that distracted him. A child had been taken by his psychotic father and the mother, following his instructions, hired the detectives to act as go-betweens and negotiate his release. She was sure he just wanted the money, that he wouldn't hurt the child if he just got paid, and the detectives knew she was almost certainly right. When they contacted him, he agreed to exchange the money for the boy, on his turf and on his terms.

So they were heading into the hills on a crisp Saturday morning in October, looking for the hunting cabin where Greg Henderson was holding his son. Murray had been having a hard time with the case, feeling certain that he should have told Quinlan about it, but was bound by client confidentiality and the knowledge that Quinlan would have stopped them. He would have been required to, but Murray knew that would blow the case. So he was already feeling bad as Cody drove them up the dirt road, not noticing the fall foliage or the deer peeking from behind the trees. His friends were talking but he wasn't listening. In his head, he was hearing Quinlan's angry lectures after the abortive prostitution sting three months ago and thinking about how much worse this would be. Assuming they got the child safely. If they didn't it would be—well, he couldn't even guess. It was unthinkable.

"Something wrong, Murray? You haven't said a word since we left the highway," Nick said, turning around in his seat.

"I'm just worried. This all seems wrong to me. He should be worried about facing three men. Why did he agree to that?"

"He wants the money," Cody said. "Lenore was right about that. He cares way more about the money than he does his kid."

"None of this feels right," Murray insisted, quiet but firm. What he couldn't quite figure out was just why it was wrong. He stared unseeing at the wooded hills and pondered the familiarity in his mind.

"He's got a point," Cody whispered and Nick turned around to listen. "If Henderson has more people up there, there could be a whole ambush waiting."

"Yeah, but he doesn't," Nick said. "You heard her. He's a strung out junkie on the run. He needs to get fixed; he doesn't need a little kid dragging him down. And he doesn't have any friends. Not the kind that'll kill for him, at least."

"What if he doesn't have the kid anymore?"

"Then he doesn't get paid," Nick said flatly. Aware of how cold that sounded, he looked back at Murray again, but Murray didn't seem to have heard.

A few minutes later, the cabin came into sight and Cody parked fifty feet from the porch, as he'd been instructed. They stayed in the Jimmy until the front door opened and a man came out, a rifle in one hand and the other wound in the collar of a little boy's shirt. The child was dirty and sobbing but appeared unharmed, and that gave them hope. Cody opened his door and the rifle swung in his direction like a compass needle seeking true north.

"You stay there," Henderson shouted. "I want the geek to bring the money."

For a second it looked like Cody would argue, but Murray was already climbing out, the briefcase in one hand.

"Bring it up here and show me the money," he instructed and Murray approached the porch with a sense of doom. It was still familiar, still terribly wrong, and he still couldn't figure out why.

Murray stopped at the bottom of the porch steps and opened the case, showing him the ten thousand dollars in cash, done up in neat bundles of twenties. When Henderson nodded approval, he set it down and backed away just a couple of feet.

"Let the boy go now," he said, his voice low and even. "Please, you have the money."

Henderson seemed to think it over a moment, then thrust the child forward so he stumbled and staggered down the steps. He hit Murray's knees and they fell together as Henderson raised the rifle. He had time to realize he'd been right, this was just as wrong as it could possibly be, and then Nick and Cody were getting out of the car, their pistols already in their hands. Murray rolled over, covering the child with his body, as the first rifle shots cracked across the hillside. There was answering fire from one pistol and Murray looked back at the car. Cody was on the ground and Nick was nowhere in sight. That was when it finally came to him, where he knew this from.

Murray sat up, pushed the boy behind him, and pulled his own pistol from the small of his back. It was inevitable, he thought as he leveled it with both hands. Everything came full circle in the end. Henderson was still shooting at the car, not thinking of the skinny geek at all. They never did. But once again, it was he who pulled the trigger.

"Cody," Nick was shouting. "Cody, where are you?" The shouting stopped when he came around the front of the car and saw his friend lying crumpled on the ground. The only sound was the hysterical sobbing of the child, five year old Tommy Henderson, who had just seen his father gunned down. Tommy wasn't sorry about that. He was only afraid his father might get up again, angrier than before. It had been a bad week in the Henderson hunting cabin.

Nick went to his knees by Cody's side and tore his shirt away to check the wound in his chest. It was high, so that was good, but it was bleeding a lot.

"Nick?" he whispered. "Is the boy all right? Did we get him?"

"He's fine. Hear him crying? He's okay, babe. Murray got Henderson; it's all over. Can you stand up? We've got to get you out of here."

"Shit, I don't know. Let me rest a second." He sounded out of breath, as if he'd run a great distance, and Nick wanted to give in. But Cody's blood was pouring freely and resting wouldn't make him any stronger.

"Sorry, man, no can do. I'm gonna try to stop the bleeding and then we gotta go. Murray," he yelled, "get over here and help me."

That was when he noticed that Murray was still sitting on the ground, the pistol in his hand, seemingly unaware even of the child who had crawled into his lap.

"Murray, I need your help," he called again and then turned back to Cody. Nick stripped off his t-shirt and folded it into a thick pad to cover the wound. Cody winced under the pressure, his pale face going a shade whiter, but Nick only pressed harder.

"Murray," he shouted one more time, and the skinny man finally rose, putting his gun away automatically and leading the little boy by the hand. Not because it occurred to him to do so, but because Tommy grabbed his hand and Murray didn't notice.

"Cody, hang on. You're gonna be okay, you hear me? It's not that bad and we're gonna get out of here right now."

"Did it go through?" Cody asked weakly. "I can't tell."

"No. No, babe, it's still in there, but that's good. You won't bleed so much, right? Come on, let's get you on your feet. You're gonna have to ride in the back, so you can lie down, and I need your help. Murray, are you with us?" Nick liked the look on Murray's face about as much as he did the one on Cody's. He was stunned and blank, and Nick didn't have time to figure out why.

"Tommy," Nick said, turning to the child. "I need you to go around and get into the car, okay? Can you get in the front seat and put your seatbelt on?"

"Are you taking me to my mommy?" he asked, not letting go of Murray's hand.

"Yeah, we are. First we have to take our friend to the hospital, and then we're going to call your mom. It's okay, it won't take long."

Tommy nodded and did as he was told.

"Murray, help me get him in the car. Can you drive?" Nick badly wanted to stay with Cody, to hold him and comfort him and watch the wound. But Murray didn't look like he could understand words, let alone navigate the narrow dirt road back to the highway. As if to prove it, he didn't answer and the blank look never left his eyes.

"All right, get in the back and I'll hand him in to you."

That, he could do. Murray climbed into the back of the Jimmy and waited, ignoring the activity around him. He'd already done this once. He knew how it would end.

"Cody, baby, I'm so sorry," Nick whispered, heaving him upright and feeling the bitten back gasp of pain. Nick's own heart was pounding with fear and adrenaline, knowing that town was just a little too far away and the road out a little too slow. This wasn't the time to be thinking about losing the race, but he was. It was the only thing that mattered now and he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Cody groaned, low and miserable, as Nick braced his hips against the side of the car.

"Okay, Cody, baby, it's okay," he whispered. "Just lean back and let Murray catch you. It's okay, I swear."

"I'm scared, Nick," he moaned against the warm shoulder. "I can't breathe and I—I'm so scared. Don't—don't let me die. Not like this, Nick. Please."

"You're not going to die. Don't even say that. Just let go and lean back. It's okay."

Murray had it together just enough to catch Cody's shoulders and ease him backward into the car, moving with him across the seat as Nick slid the rest of his body in.

"Keep pressure on the wound," Nick ordered and climbed behind the wheel. "And hang onto him. We're making this trip in record time."

Murray clutched the trembling man on his lap with one arm, pressing hard on the wound with his other hand. Nick started the engine and whipped the car around in a tight circle, heading back down the dirt road at twice the speed they'd come up it.

"Cody, talk to me," he ordered. "You stay awake back there, you hear me?"

"I hear you," was the thin reply, almost lost under the wind and the sound of the motor.

"Murray, you talk to him. Keep him awake."

"Nick, I don't think Murray's talking. Is he okay?"

"Is he—yes, Cody, he's fine. Why wouldn't he be? Murray, wake up and do your job. Are you keeping pressure on the wound?"

"He's got that part down," Cody said. "Just get us to town, Nick. I'll be okay." It was brave talk but it made Nick feel better. If Cody was trying to be brave for him, he couldn't be that far gone.

None of them could know what the effort to be brave was costing him, how his shoulder ached and his lungs burned and every bump in the rutted road made him bite the inside of his cheeks until they bled. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain, holding back tears that would only make things worse should they fall, and felt himself drifting away. Fighting it was the hardest part, making himself stay awake and feel every stab of misery, but he had to do it. He had to, for Nick's sake. The thought of Nick without him was enough to keep him going.

"Murray," he whispered, no longer strong enough to make himself heard in the front seat. "Boz, listen. Did you get Henderson?"

"He's dead," Murray said tonelessly and Cody was filled with new dread, almost as bad as that which he was already feeling.

"You did good, buddy. Saved our lives. Saved Tommy's life."

Murray only nodded and shifted Cody's body closer so he could hold on better. In just another minute, Nick was turning onto the highway and pushing the car to top speed.

"You still with me, Cody?" Nick called over the roar of the wind.

"Still here," he called back, his voice dull and heavy with pain. "How much longer?"

"Ten minutes, maybe. You just hold on." Nick sounded more confident than he felt, but he felt okay. He was driving fast, doing something, and that was better than watching helplessly. Better than waiting for an ambulance, and much better than waiting in the hospital, which he was sure to be doing for the rest of the day. This was useful and let him feel in control. Let him keep the fear at bay, for a little while at least.

When they got to town, Nick managed to get through traffic with aggressive driving tactics and the persistent use of the horn, and had them outside the hospital in no time. He parked in the ambulance bay and ran inside, shouting for a gurney and someone to help. A team of doctors and nurses followed him out and Cody was swiftly lifted from the car and taken away. Nick moved the car to the nearest parking space and followed, leaving Murray and Tommy behind without thinking.

"Mister," Tommy said after a minute. "Can we see my mommy now?"

"Yes, of course," he said dully and climbed out of the car. Tommy stood up on the seat and leaned over the door, asking wordlessly to be carried, and Murray picked him up. He took the child into the lobby, put a quarter in the payphone, and asked Tommy if he knew his phone number. He did, and his mother answered on the second ring.

Lenore Henderson arrived at the same time as Lieutenant Quinlan, who had been called in by the staff at Nick's request. Murray hadn't even thought of him and he didn't want to. He sat in an uncomfortable plastic chair and held Tommy on his lap until Lenore appeared and swept him up in her arms.

"Daddy's dead," was the first thing he said. "He shot the blonde man and then that man shot him and he's dead."

Quinlan turned to Murray in surprise, but before he could ask any questions, a nurse appeared and said he had two minutes to talk to the victim before he went to surgery.

"I'll be right back, Bozinsky," he said, sternly to cover his concern, and went after the nurse.

"Is that true?" Lenore asked. "Is Greg dead?"

Murray nodded silently.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think he would hurt anyone if he got the money. Is—is Cody all right?"

Murray didn't answer but Tommy was anxious to talk.

"Daddy shot the blond man with his big rifle. There was blood everywhere. That man gave him the money but he started shooting anyway. Why did he do that, Mommy? Why did he want to hurt them?"

"I don't know, baby." She sat down beside Murray, touched his arm lightly, and asked again. "Is Cody going to be all right?"

Murray shrugged, staring at the blood on his hands.

"Are you all right, Tommy? Where did all this blood come from?" she asked and he pointed at Murray's red hands. "Oh, of course. I'm so sorry, Murray. Maybe I should have gone to the police, but I was so afraid for Tommy." Her voice broke and she pressed the little blond head to her breast. She was a true mother, and while she was sorry about Cody, she didn't think his life was too much to pay for her son's.

Murray only nodded again and she stopped talking. Tommy clung to her and she rocked him gently, humming a soft song that brought a choking lump to Murray's throat and put the boy to sleep. Quinlan returned with Nick a minute later and sat down at Murray's side.

"So you thought you could do my job," he said flatly.

"I told you, he said if we involved the police, he'd kill the boy," Nick said.

"Yeah, I remember. And you figured he'd know the difference between an undercover cop and a small time PI. Because no one could fill your Hawaiian shirt, right?"

"We didn't think he'd hurt anyone."

"No, of course not. That makes it okay to let a junkie felon run off with ten grand in cash. Bozinsky, what do you have to say for yourself?"

Murray looked up at him, eyes wide and blank behind his glasses and said nothing.

"He hasn't said more than a couple words since it happened," Nick explained. "We were so busy taking care of Cody…"

"Yeah, I get it," he said, and he did. "But Cody's in good hands now, and Murray's in shock." He put one hand to the waxy cool forehead and sighed.

"Can you hear me, kid? I need you to say something now."

"I killed him," he whispered. "What else is there to say?"

"Jesus wept," Quinlan sighed. "I'm gonna need more cops. Ryder, sit down here and hold his hand. And don't say anything. I doubt you've got anything on your mind that he wants to hear."

There was a time when Nick would have argued that opinion with justified vehemence, but it seemed like the lieutenant knew Murray better than he did these days. Quinlan used the nurses' phone to call his captain, knowing his personal involvement made it unethical to handle the case himself. Then he returned to Murray's side, making Nick move over a seat.

"What happened to the money?" Lenore asked when no one else spoke.

"It's still on the porch, I guess," Nick said. "We were in kind of a hurry getting out of there."

"Captain Lang is calling in the state police to secure the scene. They'll pick up the money and return it when the case is closed."

"Oh. I wouldn't care, except I borrowed it from my father and I'd like to give it back."

"Sure. So why don't you tell me why you didn't call the police in the beginning? Why hire a pack of civilians to handle a kidnapping?"

"He—my ex-husband—he's dangerous. He was a drug addict, that's why he needed the money, and he—he used to beat us. I left him two years ago when he broke Tommy's arms. Both of them. Have you ever seen that, officer? A three year old with two broken arms?"

"Yes, ma'am, I have."

"Then you know what I'm talking about. I thought he was still in prison, and then he snatched Tommy from his kindergarten and told me that if I didn't pay, or if I called the police, he'd kill him. He sent me a page from the phone book, an ad for the Riptide Detective Agency, and told me to send those men. I don't know why."

"Probably chose them at random."

"He made Murray carry the money to him," Nick supplied. "He probably saw his picture in the ad and thought he'd be easy to handle."

"Yeah, could be."

Murray winced slightly and Quinlan, feeling encouraged that he was paying attention, took his hand and didn't let go.

"What happened after that? After Bozinsky gave him the money?"

"He—Henderson, I mean—shoved the boy at Murray and then just opened up on us. Cody was on the side of the car closest to the cabin and he took a round right off. I guess that's why he wanted all three of us to go. He must have thought it would take longer to figure out what happened if he didn't leave anyone behind. Anyway, I ducked down behind the car and that was when I heard Murray shoot. I didn't see what happened, but when I stood up, Henderson was down on the porch and Murray was sitting on the ground, holding Tommy in his lap."

"So he saw the whole thing?" Lenore whispered. "Poor baby."

"Yeah, he had a front row seat," Nick said, and that was when Murray spoke up again.

"Not for the shooting," he sighed. "He was behind me when I killed his father."

"Thank God," Lenore said and sounded like she meant it.

"It sounds like you did what you had to do," Quinlan told Murray, but he got no answer this time. It was as if Murray only had two sentences in him, and having spoken them, considered his part completed.

"He really did," Nick confirmed. "Henderson was using a frigging Mauser. Looked like a Karabiner 98, but I'm not sure. I don't know how many rounds he had, but he got Cody with the second. He only needed two more, and I'm betting he had 'em."

"He did," Lenore said quietly. "He had enough guns and ammunition up there to outlast a siege by Sherman's Army."

Quinlan squeezed Murray's hand and got no response. Then Captain Lang was there and he let go. The official statements were given and Murray answered his questions in short, soft sentences that had to be repeated now and then when Lang couldn't hear him. Quinlan stayed close but didn't touch him again, and Murray felt that absence. It was the only thing he allowed himself to feel and he poured his heart into it, letting the absence fill him.

"All right, that'll do for now," the captain said when he could get no more out of Murray. "Lieutenant Quinlan, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure." He got up and they went a little ways down the hall, out of earshot but not out of sight. Murray didn't look up, though, and Quinlan felt a stab of disappointment.

"The shooter, Bozinsky," Lang said slowly. "He's your—uh—roommate, isn't he? Close friend?"

"Let's cut the shit, Captain. What's on your mind?"

"I just want you to know that this is going to be investigated very thoroughly. A lot of people are going to be extremely interested in where you fit into this picture. What you knew and when you knew it—that kind of thing."

"You think I knew about this ransom plot and just let them go up there and kill that guy?"

"I don't know, Ted. Did you?"

"No, _John_, I didn't. If I'd known, I'd have been with them, along with half the cops in Southern California."

"So that's your story? You live with the guy, you sleep with him, from what I've heard, and he never mentioned that he was delivering the ransom on a kidnapped kid?"

"That's right. We don't talk about ongoing cases, his or mine, and he's too damn smart to tell me about shit that he knows I wouldn't let him do. But they weren't wrong, you know. If he _had_ told me, and we showed up there with a frigging army, there would have been a lot more victims. Henderson wanted them, and if we'd sent someone else, that kid would be dead."

"That's always a possibility. But it doesn't change the fact that a lot of shit is going to be hitting a lot of fans over the next few days, and they're all going to be aimed at you and your friend."

"I know that. So is this a friendly warning, or is it more like advance notice? Are you looking to get rid of me here?"

"I wish I could say no, Ted. I really do. But we'll have to see how the public handles it. This is the second man Bozinsky's killed on the job this year, and his—relationship—with you doesn't help. We can't let it look like the department's covering for him, you understand."

"No, we can't have that. Even if both shootings were justified, even if this guy was a kidnapper and a psychopath, we can't overlook the kid being queer, can we? Jesus. It's like we're not even in America anymore when it comes to that."

"Don't go overreacting now, Ted. I said we'd have to wait and see."

"Yeah, sure. You do whatever you have to do. But I want it on the record that I called you in on this. I could have covered it up so good you'd never even have heard about it, but I didn't. If you're honest, you'll see how fucking fast I turned it over just to make sure no one could shout cover-up. And I didn't coach those witnesses, either."

"No one's saying you did. But they're all involved. They don't have a single witness who doesn't have something to gain by toeing the party line."

"And if the party line is the truth?"

"You'd better hope it is. I'm going out there as soon as I leave here, to check out the scene and see what forensics is getting together. You be where I can find you when I get back."

"Yes, sir," Quinlan said coldly and returned to Murray's side the moment the captain was gone.

"What's going on?" Nick asked when Murray didn't speak.

"Nothing. Just police BS. Mrs. Henderson," he said, leaning around Murray's hunched figure to meet her eyes. "You should take your boy on home and put him to bed. Captain Lang will be in touch if he needs anything."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Nick, you _will_ call and let me know how Cody is, won't you? I'm so sorry it turned out like this, but thank you so much for getting Tommy back."

"It's all right, Lenore. I—I'm sure Cody'll be fine, but I'll keep you posted. For now, you really should go home and look after your son. He's a good kid, you know. He was a real trooper up there today."

"Tommy's always been a trooper. He had to be, with his father. I—I really can't thank you enough." Quinlan rose and took the sleeping child from her while she stood and smoothed down her skirt. Then he handed Tommy back and she carried him out.

"What was all that with Lang?" Nick asked.

"Nothing important." He moved his chair closer to Murray's and put an arm around him, encouraging him to lean over a little. There was a second's resistance and then Murray laid his head on Quinlan's shoulder. "Are you okay, kid?"

He nodded without looking up.

"Murray, babe, you're gonna have to start talking pretty soon. I don't want to have to put a doctor on you."

"I killed him," Murray said softly.

"I know. But it wasn't wrong. You gave him the money and he started shooting anyway. There wasn't anything else you could've done."

"I'm a killer, Ted. I shot him right in front of his son."

"His son's gonna grow up to thank you for that."

"He's right," Nick said quietly. "I know what you're thinking, Boz, and this is nothing like the Warwick shooting. Greg Henderson kidnapped his own son. We paid him off and he shot Cody anyway. He was trying to kill us all. It was self-defense."

"Sure. That's what you said before, too."

"Yeah, I did. It was true then, and it's more true now. Warwick was shooting because the old man shot first and we can be blamed for that. We didn't have all the information going in. But we did this time and it was a clean shooting, Murray."

"A clean shooting," he repeated dully. "That makes it sound like a game. Like target practice or maybe a deer hunt. Not taking a human life, and that's what I did. Again."

"If you consider that guy a human being, you might want to rethink your definition," Nick muttered.

"He has a mother somewhere. Maybe a sister or a brother. People who will mourn him, even if his ex-wife and son don't. And if they do, that's my fault."

"No, it isn't," Quinlan said emphatically. "If people are mourning him, it's because he pissed his life away years ago. The only thing you've done is spare them years of future heartache."

"He might have changed. If I hadn't put an end to his life, anything could have happened."

"Yeah? Do you know a lot of speed freaks who got clean and became useful members of society? Or anything at all, besides a burden to their families and an embarrassment to whatever friends they managed to hold onto?"

"Anything is possible."

"Then is it possible," Nick asked, "for you to stop beating yourself up and be glad that Cody's alive? Or even just that no one else got shot? Like Tommy Henderson? Ask yourself what use his father would have for him after he got the money. You heard the kid's statement. His dad had him for six days and fed him twice."

Murray sighed against Quinlan's shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Let's just let him think about that for a few minutes," he told Nick. "Murray's smart. He'll figure it out."

***

That didn't really begin to happen until they were taken upstairs to see Cody. Quinlan and Murray stayed in the hall at first, and Nick went in alone. He'd been getting steadily more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by, obsessing over the idea of Cody waking alone, or not waking, which was too much to contemplate, and yet he couldn't stop. He wouldn't allow anyone to comfort him and Quinlan didn't waste any time trying. Only Cody could do that, and it would have to wait until he was ready.

"He's going to be grateful, you know," Quinlan told Murray as they stood by the door.

"Who?"

"Cody, you idiot. Who else? He's going to be grateful to the point of guilt that you saved his life. He'll know what it cost you, and you'd better not heap any more guilt on him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, don't go in there looking like an egg-sucking dog. He's going to feel bad enough about you having to kill for him without you making it worse."

"Oh. But that wasn't his fault. He'll see that, won't he?"

"Maybe not. It wasn't yours and you don't seem to see it. If a genius like you can't grasp the perfectly obvious, I don't see where a beach bum dropout has much chance."

"It's not the same. Cody can't control my actions. Only I could do that."

"And what would you have done differently? If you could go back and do it again, would you change it? Would you stand there in front of the gun and distract him so Nick could get off a shot? Would you let that animal kill you to avoid killing him? And if you even pretend to think about it, kid, I might kill you myself."

Murray smiled just a little, for the first time that day, and shook his head.

"No, I wouldn't want to be dead in his place. It would be cruel to you and the guys and I won't wish for that. It's just—I'm not a killer. And yet I am."

"You're not a killer, Murray. You're a defender. Think about that, why don't you?"

Nick came out then and said that Cody wanted to see Murray for a minute. He was groggy and wouldn't be awake long, but he'd been quite adamant that it couldn't wait.

"I'll stay out here," Quinlan said, with a quick look at Nick, who nodded agreement. Murray went in alone, approaching Cody's bed with trepidation. He didn't know what to expect, exactly, but in his mind he was formulating a long list of things he couldn't tolerate, and it included pretty much everything he could imagine.

"Boz, is that you?" Cody said, his smooth honey voice rough with sedatives and pain.

"Yes, it's—it's me. How do you feel?"

"Awful. I can only talk a minute, so sit down and listen."

Murray sat in the chair Nick had so recently vacated and moved it closer to the bed. Cody waved his hand limply and Murray caught it, held it in the blankets and squeezed it hard.

"Murray, you saved my life. Again. You know that, right?"

"Y—yes," he said hesitantly. This line of conversation was number three on the list.

"Thank you. I know how much it must have hurt you. Probably will hurt you for a long time, and I'm grateful."

"Cody, don't…"

"Let me talk, Boz. You'll get your turn later, when I'm asleep." He smiled weakly and Murray managed to smile back, squeezing the cold hand harder. "I had a long few seconds to think about all that, lying on the ground up there. I saw you sitting there, protecting that little boy, and I knew you'd shoot. I knew Nick couldn't, he was out of position, and I'd lost my gun, but I—I wasn't afraid."

"You weren't?"

"Not at all. I was scared when it was over, but not when your gun was the only thing between me and certain death. I knew you'd do it, for me and for Tommy, if not for yourself. I knew you wouldn't even think about it, and you didn't. I trusted you and you didn't let me down."

"Cody…"

"No, this is important. You're going to battle this for a long time, buddy, and it's going to be the same battle, because you didn't finish it last time. I just want you to remember this, in case your demons start to win some time when I'm not there to tell you. I never doubted you, Boz, and you didn't let me down."

"I—Cody—thank you. But I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want to battle demons."

"I know, buddy. I don't like it, either. But Nick helps me through the hard times, and Ted will help you. That's what we have them for, right?"

Murray nodded, trying to smile, and suddenly tears were streaming down his cheeks. He took off his glasses to wipe them away and Cody's heart broke anew.

"It's okay," he sighed. "I feel like crying, too."

Murray bent low, as if seeking a blessing, and pressed his forehead to Cody's hip. The trembling hand moved to the back of Murray's head and rested there as Cody fell asleep. Murray waited until he was sure his friend slept soundly before returning the cold hand to the bed and getting up. He dried his eyes, put his glasses on, and went out to send Nick back in. And to tell Quinlan he wanted to go home. They probably had a lot to talk about.

***

"Nick, are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here." He rose automatically to pour a cup of water and held it for Cody to drink. "How're you feeling?"

"I've been better. What time is it?"

"Almost eight. You've been sleeping all day."

Cody sighed and tried to rub his eyes but the pain in his chest held him back.

"Something I can help you with?"

"Only if you can get me out of here."

"Sorry, babe. It'll be a couple days, at least."

Cody nodded, closing his eyes, and for a moment Nick thought he'd gone back to sleep. Then he spoke again, without opening his eyes.

"Is that kid okay? Tommy?"

"Yeah. I talked to his mom about an hour ago."

"Did you." Even without that look, Nick was well aware of the implication.

"She wanted to know how you were doing. She said Tommy was eating Spaghetti-O's and asking if they could go to the park tomorrow."

"Smart kid. And speaking of smart, how's Murray? Is he around?"

"LT took him home. They're going to try and come back before visiting hours end, if he's up to it."

"Why wouldn't he be?" Cody opened his eyes then, needing to see if Nick was going to lie.

"He will be. He's just a little shaken up, still. I'm leaving it to Quinlan to settle him down this time. He'll probably do a better job than we could."

"Yeah, we really didn't get him through it very well last time. I tell you Nick, I'm getting pretty tired of making him kill people. It'd be nice if he put one down for you sometime."

"Hey, it was for me, too. He just did it before I got hit. Anyway, last time, when he took it so bad, it wasn't all our fault. He had Quinlan eating at his guts, too. We just didn't know it."

"Yeah, well, if they don't come back tonight, give him a call and see how he's doing, okay?"

"Sure, babe. Whatever you want." He held Cody's hand in silence for a while, then asked if he wanted to watch TV.

"Can't stand the quiet, can you?" Cody teased.

"I'm only thinking of you. UC is playing the University of Oregon, and if they win by seven, we make a hundred bucks."

"You bet on college football?"

"I bet on UC. It's money in the bank."

"Good. A hundred dollars might pay for five minutes in here, depending on what's in that IV."

"If you're still in pain, it's the cheap stuff."

"That's a break. Better ask Murray if my insurance is up to date, just to be on the safe side."

"I will," he said, and they watched the game until Cody fell asleep again. Nick never let go of his hand.

***

Quinlan hesitated outside the bedroom door, debated knocking, and berated himself viciously for it. Then he did it anyway. Murray had said he wanted to take a nap when they got home from the hospital and, so far as Quinlan knew, he'd been asleep ever since. The lack of response to his knock might have confirmed that hypothesis, but he didn't have to be a scientist to know that it didn't exactly disprove it, either. He opened the door, mentally chastising himself for using words like hypothesis,.

Murray was lying on his back on top of the blankets, hands folded over his chest, staring at the ceiling. He wasn't wearing his glasses, so even if there'd been something there worth looking at, he'd have missed it.

"How're you doing, kid?" Quinlan asked softly. Murray turned toward the sound of his voice, but his eyes were blank.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You look real okay, laying there like a corpse. I almost want to go get you a lily and get it over with."

"Don't make fun of me, Lieutenant."

"I'm not. Don't you want to go see Cody before visiting hours are over?"

"What time is it?"

"It's late enough." He stepped into the room at last and closed the door, as if there was anyone who might be watching. "Murray, I let you hide in here all afternoon. Now you need to do something."

"I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't want to see him like that."

"No one does. But maybe he wants to see you. Maybe he needs his friends right now."

"He has Nick. That's all he really needs," Murray said, turning his face back toward the ceiling and closing his eyes.

"Is it? Remember when you were sick and they hung around all the time, even though I was there? You needed a lot of friends." He sat down on the bed and put his hand on Murray's arm.

"They thought I was dying. Cody's not going to die and he knows it. He's okay."

"We both know that this isn't about him, kid. Let's cut the crap now, okay? You're just wasting time."

"I am?" he asked with no discernable trace of interest.

"Yeah, you are. I'm not going to play games with you, Bozinsky. Not unless they have rules and end with me getting laid, and I don't think this one does. Now look at me and tell me why you don't want to see your best friend?"

"You're my best friend."

"You know what I mean. And you're not looking at me."

Murray turned his head and opened his eyes, too wide and distant to really be seeing him. Quinlan picked up his glasses from the nightstand and forced them into his hand. Reluctantly, Murray put them on.

"I don't want him to thank me again," he whispered. "I don't want to be told how good it is that I shot that man. I never want to hear about it again, all right?"

"That'd be fine with me, but it's not going to happen. You're gonna have to talk to the police, and you have to face your friends. More than that, you have to face yourself."

"You act like there's something wrong with me because I can't shoot people and just walk away."

"No, I'm not acting any such thing. I'm saying you have to accept what's happened and deal with it," Quinlan said firmly.

"And I'm saying I'm not ready for that," Murray shouted back. He sat up and scooted away, nearly falling off the other side of the bed.

"Fine. When you are ready, we'll talk about it. But right now you're gonna get up, put your shoes on, and come with me to the hospital. Cody's waiting, and before you argue, think about this. If you don't go, he'll think you blame him. Like it's his fault you're all fucked up. Do you want him to think that?"

"Maybe it is," he cried. "Maybe if Cody was a better shot, I wouldn't be a two time killer. He's been to war; he's supposed to be prepared for this. He can handle it and I can't, so why does it always have to be me?"

"You really feel that way? You think those two wouldn't have done anything to keep it from being you?"

"They _didn't do anything_. They let me deliver the money and they didn't cover me and I was out there all alone while that man was shooting at us. He probably would have gotten me first, except I had the kid."

"Yeah, you did. They let you have the shield, didn't they? The one thing that might keep someone from getting shot at."

Murray froze, staring at him with eyes magnified by surprise and thick glasses.

"Didn't think of that, did you? You were covered the second you touched that kid. Maybe not for good, I know. He might have taken you out after he was done with the other two, but you stopped him. Now, you can read that any way you want—that you got screwed, that you're a killer, whatever. But the truth is, you _did_ save a lot of lives today, and the price wasn't nearly as high as it usually is. And Cody's waiting to see you. He needs to know you're okay, just as much as you need to know _he_ is, and if you don't give him that, then you're not much of a friend."

"Killing for him isn't enough?" Murray shot back. "I have to make him feel good about it, too?"

"Yeah, you do. Pulling the trigger is always the easy part, kiddo. What's hard is everything that comes after."

"You're going to go through with this, aren't you?" Suddenly the anger was gone and his voice turned pleading, trembling on the verge of tears.

"Go through with what?"

"With—with all of this. With me."

"Murray, I don't know what you're talking about," he said, but not in the teasing way he usually did. This was serious and he really needed to understand.

"It'd be better for you if I left. This is going to finish you with the department, isn't it? Your gay lover shoots someone in a ransom drop that the police should have been handling? That's what the captain was telling you earlier, isn't it?"

"It came up," he said simply. "But that's not your problem."

"The fuck it isn't," Murray shouted, angry all over again. But not at Quinlan, or Cody, or anyone but himself.

"No, it isn't. You did what you had to and you were right. That guy wasn't going to turn the kid over to anyone but you, and if you were there, you'd have had to shoot him. You can worry this over as much as you like, but there wasn't any other way for it to come out and you know it."

"But it's not fair to you. You're going to lose everything, because of me."

"No, I'm not. I've been a cop for a long time, but I've been other things, too. And if I have to, I can be other things again. And I'm not losing you, right?"

"Not—not if you don't want to."

"Good. So get your shoes and let's go. We've only got a few minutes before they won't let us in."

Murray was helpless not to obey. Quinlan was too confident, too certain of himself and his conclusions, to permit even a seasoned questioner like Murray to question him now. It must be as he said, and if it wasn't, that was a problem for another time. He put on his shoes, got his sweatshirt, and followed the lieutenant out to the car.

The questions didn't come until they were in the car, and then there were only two.

"You'd really give up your career for me?"

"Yeah, I guess I would."

"Why?"

"Why?" he repeated, shooting Murray a stern look, which softened when he saw the genuine concern on his lover's face. "Because it's just a job, and jobs end. I like to think you'd still be around after I retired."

"Oh. I'm the better investment, then."

"That's no insult, kid."

"No, I know it isn't." He turned his face to the window and didn't speak again.

***

"Hey, you made it," Nick said happily when they entered the room. He made no effort to keep his voice down, knowing Cody wanted to be woken if they came.

"The lieutenant said I should," Murray said quietly.

"Didn't you want to?" Nick asked, hoping Murray could give a reasonably sincere sounding affirmative for Cody's sake.

"I—I thought he'd probably want to rest."

"No, Boz," Cody said, as loudly as he could. "I wanted to see you. Come over here."

Murray sat on the edge of the chair by the bed, trembly and nervous, as if any sudden movement would send him through the ceiling.

"H—how are—are you feeling?"

"Okay. I've got some good painkillers and UC's winning."

"Oh, good. I—I think Ted's got money on that."

"So does Nick. We should go in together and bet the other side, so one of us is guaranteed to win."

"Yes, we could do that. I used to bet on horses in Baltimore and I never played fewer than three," he said, losing his tentativeness now that he was on the familiar ground of explaining something. "It cuts into your winnings, but you always get your money back, at the very least. I mean, if you study it carefully and pick the right horses."

"Three, huh?"

"Yes, I found that to be the most effective number. Two doesn't give good enough odds and four costs too much."

"So what did you do, figure out the odds based on past performance, or the jockey's record or what?"

"Sometimes. But horse races are so unpredictable that my own system won just as often."

"What system is that?"

"The favorite, the longest shot, and the one that was either the prettiest, or had the best name. All to show, of course."

"You're kidding. A scientist like you picked horses by their names?"

"I once had five dollars on Microscopic Love at thirty to one. My only regret was not betting to win, but that would have destabilized the system."

"I see. And system integrity must be maintained at all costs." He was teasing but not making fun, and Murray smiled for the first time.

"Of course. Cody, are you really okay?"

"Sure I am. Nick's taking good care of me. What about you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said quietly and Cody gave him a narrow look. "I am. Or I will be. The lieutenant's taking care of me."

"Good. I imagine he's pretty smart about this kind of thing. Two wars, all these years on the force—you listen to him, okay?"

"I will. I—Cody, I'm really glad you're all right. That's the most important thing."

"Well, it's one of them. Hey, look, Oregon fumbled. Nick, come look at this replay."

They watched the game until the nurse chased them out, although after a lot of eloquent pleading, much of it from Murray, who had recovered most of his eloquence in the last hour, Nick was allowed to return. Cody was sleeping and Nick stayed beside him all night.

***

"When was the last time you ate, kid? Was it breakfast, or was it last night?" They'd had lunch at the hospital but Murray hadn't touched his, and he'd refused all offers of food at home.

"I think it was last night. I was too nervous this morning."

"Well, you want to go to the A&amp;W? They're still open and we don't have to get out of the car."

"If you want."

Quinlan glanced at him in the dim light and saw Murray staring out the window again.

"I want to tell you a story, kid."

"Okay," he said dully, not turning away from the window.

"When I became a cop, I thought it would be easy. I'd been to war. I'd seen men blown up with mines, I'd mowed them down with a machine gun, I'd seen all kinds of death, constantly. I'd killed all kinds of people, just about every day, it seemed like. So I joined the force for a few years, and then I got sent to war again. And it was even worse. There were still machine guns, but there was Napalm, too. A lot had changed, and I saw way more ugly fucking death than I ever expected."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"No," he said shortly. The A&amp;W was just down the street and he pulled into a parking space before continuing.

"When I got back from 'Nam, I left the LAPD and came out here. I thought there'd be less work. Less death. Not that I'd seen much in LA, you know. Mostly traffic accidents and robberies. I saw people that other people had killed. I didn't kill my first man on the job until I'd been here two years."

Murray didn't have anything to say to that, and when a carhop approached, Quinlan rolled down the window and ordered. He didn't ask what Murray wanted. They came here often enough that he already knew. When the girl was gone, he turned on the radio and continued.

"It wasn't like killing people in a war. He was just a drunk. An American, same as you and me. But he got caught knocking over a convenience store and he was using an old woman as a shield to escape. She was hysterical, so scared she could hardly walk, and when he had to drop her, I shot him. I was maybe twenty feet away, and I saw the look on his face. Saw him put his hand over the hole in his shirt and then look up at me, like he was wondering what the hell had happened. See, they teach soldiers to expect to get shot, but no one had taught him a damn thing. He fell down right beside the old lady and by the time I got to him, he was dead. Still had that same surprised look on his face."

He stopped talking, and after a minute, Murray turned to him.

"So you felt bad about shooting the holdup guy?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. It had to be done, but I wish to Christ it hadn't. Or at least that I wasn't the one who had to do it. The only one I never regretted was that son of a bitch who ran me down. But he killed me, too, so we're even."

"But you came back. He didn't. Greg Henderson won't, either."

"No, he won't. Lucky thing for his kid, too."

"When did you stop thinking about the holdup guy? Every day, I mean. How long did it take to get better?"

"A while. A couple months, I guess. After that it was two or three times a week, and then a couple times a month. And then, two years later, I shot another one. A crackhead beating up his old lady. And it all came back. The two of them haunted me for months. I had nightmares, talked in my sleep until Lorna moved into another bedroom. Department finally made me see a shrink. They still do, every time."

"Does it help?"

"I've been a cop here for fifteen years and I've killed eight men. I wouldn't have made it this long if it didn't."

The carhop brought their food then and they ate in relative silence for a while. The radio played softly, and Murray sipped his root beer float. Quinlan always remembered to get him one. It was one of the many ways he expressed love without words, and Murray thought that Lorna must not have understood. She must have wanted words and expensive gifts from this man who didn't know how to give them. He was a riddle that spoke with favorite foods and shoulder massages and affectionate insults. Things that maybe only men understood.

"Is that what you think I should do?" Murray asked. "See a—a shrink?"

"If you think you need to. There's no shame in it."

"No, I—I know that. But can't I still talk to you?"

"Sure. You can always talk to me, kid, you know that. And you have other friends, too. Quite a few of them, seems to me."

"Yeah, but no one I'm as close to as you and Nick and Cody. I can't—tell them things. Like how scared I am that I'm going to ruin your career and your life. If I'd thought of that before we went on that job this morning, if I'd thought about how you could get hurt…"

"If you think about shit like that all the time, you'll never do anything. Cops have to maintain a certain public image, and I assume that's shot all to shit by now, or it will be tomorrow at the latest, but you know what? Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke. I never backed down from a fight, and I never gave up anything I wanted just because someone said I shouldn't have it."

"What if they hurt you?"

"Murray, I've worked with these people for years. And they've known about us, or at least suspected, since July. They can fire me, they can suggest I resign, but they won't hurt me. There isn't one man in that place with the balls to try."

"Do you really think so?" he asked, hopeful rather than disbelieving.

"Yeah, I do. Are you ready to go?"

So Murray knew that part of the conversation was over. He'd tried to have it before, to talk about Quinlan's job and find out what people were saying, but this was as far as they'd ever gotten. If there were any problems, his independent-minded lover was keeping them to himself.

At home, Quinlan watched the local TV news while Murray brushed his teeth and got ready for bed. There was a report about the incident, a brief interview with Lenore Henderson, who said how grateful she was to the Riptide Detective Agency for recovering her son for her, and then Captain Lang's face filled the screen. Quinlan leaned forward and turned down the volume a little. It was a press conference, and the fact that he hadn't been advised or invited didn't bode well.

"Captain, is there any truth to the rumors that the shooter is romantically involved with one of your officers?"

"I prefer not to speculate on the personal lives of my men," he said.

"Asshole," Quinlan muttered.

"But public records show that Dr. Murray Bozinsky is living with Lieutenant Theodore Quinlan, who filed the initial report. Do you have any comment on that?"

"The hospital staff called Lieutenant Quinlan, as is standard procedure when they have a gunshot victim. There's no evidence that he had any prior knowledge of the ransom demand or Dr. Bozinsky's case with the detective agency."

"Will their relationship affect the investigation?" a female reporter called.

"Bitch," Quinlan muttered and turned the volume down a little more.

"As I said, there's no proof at this time that an inappropriate relationship exists. Lieutenant Quinlan will be on administrative leave until the extent of his involvement is established, but I fully expect for him to be cleared of any wrongdoing."

"Captain, what is the department's policy on gay officers?"

Quinlan heard the bathroom door open and turned off the TV without hearing the answer. He didn't know what Lang would say, but he knew the policy very well. There were no gay officers, unless they caused trouble, and then they were gone. But always for some other reason. He figured he'd be gone soon, and whatever bullshit reason they used would be the one he gave Murray. It was at that moment that he really began to wonder what he would do if he wasn't a cop anymore.

"Is there anything interesting on TV?" Murray asked.

"No. Go on to bed, kid. I'll be there in a minute."

When he went into the bedroom, he found Murray curled up on his side, the blankets clutched around his neck, shivering violently. It might be October, but it wasn't really cold and the house was fairly snug. Of course, Quinlan was thick bodied and heavily built, and he kept himself warm with no trouble. He got into bed behind Murray and hugged him close, sharing the heat that he generated so easily. After a long time, the shivering stopped.

"It's gonna be okay, you know," he whispered. "Everything's gonna be okay."

Murray nodded. He didn't believe it, but it was a nice thought.


End file.
